


The Third Option

by dryswallow



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Post Pan-Pan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 04:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6037372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dryswallow/pseuds/dryswallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabel Lovelace does not want to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Option

The lights in her quarters were dim, shedding just enough light for Isabel to make out the contents of her room. The lighting all over the ship had been like this ever since the repairs started, a necessary rationing of power to lessen the strain on systems that were still barely functional. The bulbs flickered sometimes, surging with brightness that faded into a grey dark, lasting anywhere from a few seconds to nearly an hour before Hera brought the power back again with one of her falsely cheerful apologies. _Oops, sorry about that! The power got diverted to something way more important than you being able to see what you’re doing! Hope you weren’t working on something vital to your survival!_

Isabel stumbled towards her small closet to find a jacket, or a sweater, hell, even a blanket would do. Anything to wrap around herself, to lift the chill from her bones. The thermal systems may have been working again, but her room still felt ice cold.

She took the first sweater she saw and tugged it over her head, not realizing who it belonged to until her arms were already through the sleeves. It was one of Eiffel’s shirts – she’d even seen him wearing it once, during the first week after she had arrived. This shirt and several others had found its way to her drawer recently, a few weeks after Eiffel’s… disappearance.

A reallocation of resources. The right thing for a commander to do, given the circumstances.

Turning away from the closet, Isabel faced her darkened quarters. Minkowski had ordered them all to take a few hours to rest. There were still repairs to do, but none of them were capable of working with their hands still shaking from the cold. Maybe the other two would be able to relax, but the suggestion made Isabel come close to laughter. She hadn’t been able to rest for months, maybe years. In her dreams, she was always in a panic, running through the halls of the Hephaestus in an attempt to find someone or something just out of her grasp. Sometimes it was broken machinery, sometimes a dying crew member, or maybe both at once, Rhea’s panicked voice ringing in her ears as the situation grew worse and worse.

And when she woke, heart racing, she saw only the grey walls of the ship closing in on her.

Glancing around the room, Isabel caught sight of the wash basin by her doorway. She couldn’t recall ever using the sink, not even to wash her face in the mornings and before bed. Water was being rationed, just like everything else. But above the sink was a mirror, and that’s what had really grabbed her attention.

The Isabel Lovelace she saw in the glass was a mess. As she walked towards the mirror she could see that her dark skin, once full-coloured and healthy, now wore a grey sheen. Her lips were dry and cracked from the recycled air flowing through the ship’s vents. It was quite a change from the photograph on her ID card, taken only a few days before she’d left Earth. The Isabel Lovelace in that photo was smiling proudly, full of hope for the future.

Well, some future it turned out to be.

“Am I going to die out here?” Isabel asked her reflection. “Are you going to let yourself die out here? Are you going to _give up_?”

If only it was as easy as not giving up.

Isabel leaned all her weight forward onto the sink, clutching at its metal sides until her fingers ached with strain. For the last few months, she saw chances when she looked around the Hephaestus. She saw materials that could be repurposed, fashioned into a ship that could take her away from this miserable, desolate region of space. She did it once before – she could do it again.

After learning about the cracks throughout the ship, all she saw was wreckage.

Be smart, efficient, resourceful. Think months ahead of where you are and plan accordingly. Anticipate danger and learn from your victories as well as your mistakes so that next time, you can do better. That is how a captain serves her crew.

Isabel had tried. She really, really, really tried. How the hell was she supposed to anticipate a sociopath scientist killing her crew members? Unexplained stellar phenomena causing further damage to a ship that was already barely functional? Being lied to by her superiors and then left to die?

“I’m not going to die,” Isabel hissed.

Her soul had been scraped thin. Not much of it was left – only stubbornness, guilt, and an animalistic drive to keep herself alive. No, more than just herself. If she died, the truth of what happened to her crew would vanish with her. There would be no one to tell their friends and families back on Earth, or to make sure no one else was killed as a side effect of unethical human experimentation.

Isabel clenched her teeth and focused on her lungs, forcing herself to take slower breaths. She couldn’t think rationally if she let herself cave to panic. It’s a captain’s duty to keep calm, regardless of the circumstances, and see things through to the very end.

“I’m not going to die,” she repeated. “Not here. Not yet.”

With one last look at the glass, she set off down the hall towards Minkowski’s quarters.

It was time for them to take the third option.


End file.
